Something in the Air
by Red Skies and Lullabies
Summary: An assignment to track down a creature using magic to drive residents of the Third Kingdom crazy for each other leads Death and War to a bit of a snow-in in the middle of the woods. When the spell starts to effect War, how long can he hold out before he finally acts on what's been brewing between them for centuries? (Spoiler alert: it's not a long time at all)
_This story was born of the fact that I have never written a 'magic made them do it' fic, and I was challenged. A little bit dub-con, but only because of the underlying magical factors, even if it isn't a big part of the story. If you want to give me any prompts to write for, head to my tumblr (red-sky-night) and ask! I'm happy to do_ almost _anything!_

* * *

Outside, the wind howled through skeletal trees, and the cabin looked cold and desolate, surrounded by the husks of gigantic, twisting oaks. Falling ice and snow stung War's face, even with his signature hooked red hood covering him, as he waded knee-deep in the freezing slush to get to the empty house. Behind him, Death was having an easier time of getting by, following the trail that the younger nephilim had forged and making snide comments about the speed at which War was moving, much to his annoyance.

The cabin's sloping porch looked as amazing as the White City to the exhausted Horsemen. "Finally," Death panted as if _he_ had been doing the hard work and broke the lock on the door, walking into the house. "I suppose we'll be stuck here until the storm dies down." He surveyed the small cabin, it was equipped with a fireplace and seemed to have enough firewood to last a few days. Even inside, the chill was biting, and Death sighed, bypassing the comfortable, if old, couch, in favor of grabbing a couple of logs and starting a fire. War, who had been wrestling the door closed against the wind, looked around, and upon seeing the couch, he collapsed down onto it, kicking off his boots and slinging his armor off, throwing a thick arm over his eyes with a sense of finality, clearly intent on blocking out the world so that he could rest for a while.

"Get up, you insolent child!" Death scolded, searching the rest of the small cabin. From the couch, a muffled "Not a child, anymore," could be heard. Growling, because War was more right than he could ever know, Death continued poking around. He had found a separate room, only containing a bed, nightstand, and a dresser, all of it faded and obviously not recently made. What worried him was that there _was_ furniture. Everything was clean and dust-free; even the kitchenette in the corner was filled with fairly recent food. He took stock of the contents of the dresser and nightstand, and against his better judgment, went back into the main room to give it another once over. _Not_ to check on War, because that would be ridiculous. But he couldn't help but snort when he saw his younger brother's massive frame sprawled across the couch. His legs were hanging off the end of it, feet almost touching the ground. His massive prosthetic arm _was_ touching the ground, his right arm still obscuring the view of his face.

"War." Death said loudly, attempting to wake the other man, knowing the tiny couch would be murder on his back. Then he realized that his efforts to get War into bed would probably turn into _him_ attempting to bed War, which were two very different things, one of which he was ashamed to even be thinking. That was his little _brother_ , he had practically raised the boy, he had no _right_ to think about bending him over the nearest surface, fisting a hand in that long white hair and _pulling_ , making him scream and writhe and moan as Death forced him to take everything he had to give.

He sighed, wrenching his eyes away from War's prone form, and threw in the towel on getting his younger brother up in favor of escaping back to the other room and settling on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out how he was going to handle being so close to War for what was beginning to seem like a full-blown blizzard. Trying to ignore the all-encompassing _need_ that had him rock-hard and hornier than Lilith's servants had ever been.

They wouldn't have gotten into this mess had they not agreed to look into some unofficial Council business in the Third Kingdom. There were reports of large amounts of magic being used in the middle of nowhere, making the living creatures in the area go wild. The Council hadn't seen it as necessary to give them access to their powers as the Horsemen, which left them - still powerful - but not impervious to the biting cold and harsh weather this season had blessed them with.

It was of no matter now that they were stuck in the snowstorm, miles from civilization, and - Death pulled out the map of the area that he had marked all of the magical surges on - right in the middle of the place where the strange sorcery had originated.

Great.

He sighed heavily and decided to follow in War's footsteps and get a little rest. Prior to finding the cabin, they had been trekking through the snow for most of the day. The dark, cloudy skies obscured the sun's path, but Death could guess that it was beginning to get late. He pulled the blackout curtains over the large window, the white of the snow shining brightly, even in the darkness, and pulled his mask off with a click, setting it on the top of the dresser, tossing his armor into the corner, leaving him in only his leather pants. Too exhausted to do much else, he laid down on the bed, groaning at the soreness in his bones and relaxed, ignoring the stiff length of his cock in favoring of catching up on some sleep. He figured that he had at least a few hours before War was up again to pester him.

* * *

War woke up to a massive clap of thunder that rattled the windows with its fierceness. Confusion settled around him like a heavy cloud as he looked around the cabin. Oh, right. The forest. Power surges. A chill in the room had him stumbling off the couch, and he mindlessly fed the dying fire more wood. Outside, the snow was still falling, and the thunderclaps were fading into the distance. War couldn't shake the fog from his head. He gripped the wall as a wave of heat washed over him. He couldn't _think_. It was like his ears were stuffed with cotton. It seemed like it was hours that he spent propped up against the wall, trying to sort out his whirling thoughts. Vaguely he could feel that _something_ was trying to push its way to the forefront of his thoughts, but he was clueless as to what that thing might be. Slowly, he came to the realization that he should probably find Death, even he could realize when something was not right, despite his siblings' statements saying otherwise. His older brother always knew what to do to help him. The burning came back with a vengeance as he thought of the older nephilim, a niggling worry in the back of his mind was screaming, but he could only think of Death. His lean, powerful body, the way he _moved._ War shook his head, trying to get those corrupted thoughts out of his mind. But he could just _imagine_ those strong hands, holding him down, working him open. It would be so _good…_

"No!" War growled out, fighting against the torrent of fantasies. It wasn't the first time such thoughts had tormented him, but he was in no position to _take matters into his own hands_ with Death - somewhere - in the cabin. Looking around through hazy eyes, he walked towards the door he hadn't seen earlier and paused outside of it. Wondering if he had the strength to walk into that room. If he could resist every singing nerve in his body telling him to claim, to be claimed. Would Death fight him? Or would he finally give in to what had been growing for years? He had to have noticed, right? The exercise in War's control was enormous whenever Death was around.

Giving in, he pushed the door open, the fire casting a single ray of light into the dark room, the rest of it covered in dark shadows.

Death was motionless, patient even in sleep. He was also maskless, and War reveled in the sight of his brother's sharp features, softened slightly by the light. Clad in only the trousers and tunic he wore under his heavy armor, War crept forward silently to observe the older nephilim.

Looking down at Death, War realized that at some point, the other man had stopped aging. His black hair fanned out behind him, framing his impossibly young face. Not that there were no signs of age, no, there were frown lines, visible around his lips, his full bottom lip and that perfect cupid's bow… War's eyes traveled up his face, fixed on Death's straight nose, somehow miraculously escaping damage despite the sheer amount of injury he had taken. His eyes, closed now, but usually fiery and focused, framed by dark bags that were the only sign of the enormous exhaustion War knew he felt. Lines on his forehead and between his brows betrayed the amount of time that he spent with his face fixed in a surly scowl. He was far from perfect, but to War, the sight of Death's face was better than the idea of Eden had ever been.

As he had been observing his sleeping brother, he had unconsciously been moving closer, and when he regained some of his quickly escaping sanity, he realized that he was practically on top of Death, so close he could feel his older brother's hot breath fanning across his face. War gazed down, his eyes caught the sight of Death's parted lips, wondering if he could just once _see_ what it would be like to kiss him. To know what it would be like to be underneath him, to be fucked by him. He stopped his thoughts there but was drawn again to the sight of the smaller man's lips.

Just _one_ kiss, War told himself, and leaned down.

Death's lips were surprisingly smooth and perfect against his, the contact sending sparks along his nerves, setting his body on fire. He carefully chose not to read into the fact that as soon as he had kissed Death, the scathing heat in his body lessened, not wanting to imagine what could be causing it. In the back of his mind, he was aware of what was happening, he was being used. It had to be the spell. Quickly, he pulled back, eyes panicked, searching for any sign that Death had been alerted to his transgression. However, all he saw was his brother's face, the same as it had been moments before. It was strange, Death had never been a heavy sleeper, War had half expected him to wake up the moment he had pushed the door open. It was then that he realized how wrong his actions were. He was practically preying on his brother, while he was sleeping, no less!

War backed up, and was almost out of the room when he heard a whisper of his name escape, sounding like it had never meant to be said in the first place. A single syllable, filled with need, and a longing so soul-deep it made War _ache_. He spun around, surprised, only to find Death propped up, staring at him.

"Death! I - I," War looked down in shame, unable to finish even a simple sentence and wondered how long his older brother had been awake. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could he have been so foolish? Only Death could manage to make him so jumpy and awkward, and his eyes found the wall and fixed there. "I'll - uh - leave now." Red-faced, he was almost ready to flee when he felt a hand on his arm, making him jump.

Death stood in front of him, looking up to meet his mortified blue eyes. War turned his head away, unwilling to look Death in the face. To see the anger, the disappointment he knew would be there. Minutes passed, and Death's grip on his arm seemed to grow tighter, his irritation showing through. War was unusually terrified, remembering that this was the man who had cut his arm clean off, though, in retrospect, he had just stabbed Chaoseater through Death's chest. His humiliation grew as he thought of how much of a mistake his brother must have thought he was.

"War, look at me, damn it all!" Death cupped his brother's jaw and wrenched his head forward. War opened his eyes slowly, fearfully, and met the Fourth Horseman's intense gaze. The second their eyes met, the cloudiness disappeared, the unnatural fire was gone, finally, but his powerful arousal stayed. "Oh, War," He waited for the words of rejection to follow, but none came. Instead, Death said, "To think, all these years, that we've been dancing around each other like cowards, when we could have been doing _this._ "

War's solid blue eyes widened in shock before he was being tugged down by his hair into a heavy kiss, all tongue and teeth. They were rough, but that was fine. Sweetness could come later, when the panic wore off.

Death was sure his laugh bordered on hysterical as he felt War's hands slip down to grip his hips tightly, pulling him close, the arcane magic of his brother's gauntleted hand making his nerves sing. War was grinding down against the leather of his pants, and some part of Death's mind was convinced that it was a dream, because there was no way his biggest fantasy was something that he could make real. He went willingly when War started walking forwards, moving them towards the bed, their lips never separating, but when he felt the backs of his knees touch the side of it, he spun them around, needing to take back some control. He wagged his finger back and forth in a sign of 'not yet.'

Death pushed War back against the bed, moving to stand between his brother's parted legs. He seemed completely at ease despite his state of undress, all his scars in the open, eyes darkened with lust and something headier, something more forbidden. "We shouldn't be doing this," he said, his voice husky as he contradicted his words and kissed down the line of War's jaw, his hands running down War's stomach and pulling the other man's tunic up and over his head. As soon as the cloth was tossed away, Death was back, rubbing, touching whatever he could reach, his hot mouth sucking marks into War's strong neck, pointed canines coming dangerously close to drawing blood as he bit down.

"No," War grunted out, "we _shouldn't_ , but since when have we obeyed the rules?" He hooked his right arm around Death's smaller back, having no choice but to let the other arm hang uselessly, the large, metal appendage making movement difficult, and pulled the older nephilim closer, loving the friction between them. Death was hot against him, making him feel like there must have been a fire lit directly under the surface of his skin. He breathed heavily into the crook of his brother's neck and looked at the grayish expanse of Death's back. Taunt, corded muscle made up every inch of the smaller man's body, and watching him move, as graceful as ever, even when he was grinding his hard cock into War's hip, reminded him of how powerful Death was. The bigger nephilim could probably get off just looking at him.

As caught up in his thoughts as he was, he was taken by surprise when Death grabbed his dick through the thin material of his trousers, letting out a moan of startled pleasure. Death smirked against the skin of War's chest, feeling feverish in spite of the chill that permeated the cabin. Feeling another wash of heat that chased any vestiges of the cold away, he dropped to his knees, running his hands up War's clothed thighs, feeling the muscles tense in anticipation. His hands found the button on his brother's pants, and he popped it open easily, kissing his stomach with an easy smile. Briefly, War wondered who Death had been with before this, who had seen the proud man on his knees. Shoving down a flare of unwanted aggression, he found Death watching him carefully, hands running up his sides, almost soothingly, mouthing at the hard muscle of his abdomen. Unable to speak, War brushed a hand through his brother's unkempt hair, before dropping it to his side. Death took that as a go-ahead, and his mouth worked its way downwards, pressing wet kisses along the trail of white hair that disappeared into War's trousers. Pushing the material down as he maneuvered it off of War's hips, and he threw them off to the side carelessly, fiery eyes focused on what lay underneath.

And what a sight it was.

War was perfect, from Death's view. Every inch of him muscled, powerful. He had always thought it. Watching him grow from a gangly teen into the hulking, massive man he was had been the ultimate test of Death's patience. Now, finally, _finally_ , he had War all to himself. And staring up at his stripped form, Death was glad that he had waited. Somehow, despite all that was happening, he was apprehensive. It had been a while, and he hoped that his lost experience didn't show through. The last time he had lain with another, it had been more for survival than anything else.

He forced the painful memories away, and, his hands still resting on War's thick thighs, Death pressed loving, open-mouthed kisses on a knee, slowly working his way up, feeling the sweat-slick skin until his face was millimeters away from the solid mass of War's cock. He wondered what it would taste like, what noises War would make as Death swallowed him down, choked on him. Temptingly, he placed a kiss underneath the head, loving the way War's dick jumped at the feeling. He couldn't help but snicker at War's frustration when he moved to work kisses up the other leg.

"Tease," War accused, groaning as his smaller brother nipped at his inner thigh. He had been skillfully avoiding looking down, knowing it would probably break him, but when all of Death's ministrations came to a halt, his eyes strayed downwards.

Below the rigid line of his thick, weeping cock, Death's hunger-fueled eyes met his, and he was transfixed, staring at those kiss-swollen lips and the way he did nothing to stop War's pre-cum from dripping down onto his cheek.

Death smiled, and said, "You know, you can only be a tease if you don't follow through." With that comment, he leaned forward, wrapping one of his hands around the thick base, and suddenly, he was licking a broad stripe up the underside of War's cock, and that had War screwing his eyes shut in pleasure. Death swirled his tongue around the sensitive head, pushing back the skin and sucking hard, pumping the rest of War's cock in one of his slick hands, his fingers barely touching where they were wrapped around him. Above Death, his younger brother was panting like a bitch in heat, and when he surprised War and engulfed most of the rigid length in his hot mouth, his lips stretched wide, lips grazing his hand as he bobbed his head quickly, tongue still pressed flat against the underside of War's cock, he went wild.

When War opened his eyes again, he was caught by Death's stare, fiery eyes burning holes through him as he fisted a hand in black hair, not pushing, just anchoring himself to the sensation, feeling like he would slip away without something to hold on to. The sight of Death, swollen lips stretched wide over the length his cock, saliva mixed with pre-cum dripping down his chin, was certainly enough to break a man.

Having War's hand tight in his hair pleased Death more than it should have, and he hummed in pleasure, ignoring his aching knees in favor of running his unoccupied hand up and down War's thigh. He was content to enjoy the heady scent and taste of his brother's thick cock, twisting his wrist as he stroked what he couldn't get down. War moaned, and lost his grip on the coattails of his self-control.

Words spilled from his lips, loving despite their explicitness. "Oh, Creator, Death! So good- Ah, please, oh please," His begging continued, and Death couldn't help but fill with some strange feeling of pride, loving that his stoic little brother was coming apart above him. He bobbed his head harder, and he felt War's cock slide deeper, nearly choking him, but he pressed forward, and it was a few more inches before he found his nose buried in a thatch of white pubic hair. He would have smiled at the way War went wild above him if his mouth wasn't so full, listening to him swearing profusely, his words getting progressively more explicit.

"Fuck! Ah, your mouth is so _hot. Mmm,_ you're amazing… _Oooh_ \- yes! Ah !" The sweet, praising comments intermingled with rare swearing continued, and seemed to be getting more frequent as War became more aroused. It was probably the most he had consecutively spoken since he was a child. Death, for his part, was surprisingly acceptive of War's shockingly loving words, he was saying things that had gotten lesser men killed, and yet when War said them, it sent shocks of arousal straight to his groin. War shouted in surprise when Death grazed his teeth along the exposed length of his shaft, bobbing his head faster, before he hollowed his cheeks and _sucked._ War cried out above him, but Death pressed on, and eventually words were replaced with desperate moans and hitching breaths.

Several minutes more of that sexual torture and War was ready to blow, feeling a fire grow in his belly. He pulled on Death's hair, letting out an "I'm close," between desperate pants and dirty compliments. His brother backed off of his cock, jaw aching, lips red and shining with spit and pre-cum. He kissed the wet head of War's dick, and curled a hand tight around the base.

"Not yet, I'm not through with you..." Death's words had something in War breaking, and he hauled his older brother up, smashing their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss. He could taste himself, musky in Death's hot mouth. Said man moved to straddle War's hips, and they separated, foreheads resting together, their noses touching as they panted, lost in the pleasure of the friction between them.

War brought his hand up, palming at the muscles of Death's chest. Leaning down, he pressed sweet, hot kisses against Death's collarbones, biting down hard, then sealing his lips around the marks and sucking. Above him, the noises his brother was making bordered on obscene, almost growling as he ground his still-clothed hips into War, one hand fisted in white hair, the other wrapped around War's neck, holding him still.

Stopping, War smirked against the side of the gray-blue column of Death's neck, "Sensitive there, huh?" He arched his back, pressing his lips to his older brother's ear, licking the shell of it. The arm around his neck tightened, and he took the second of distraction to move his hand down the nephilim's chest, undoing the drawstring on his pants, the only thing separating War from the friction he desired. He reached down, wrapping thick fingers around the hot flesh he'd been looking for.

Death's hand tightened in his hair, and War took his chances and pressed their lips together again. His older brother wasted no time, forcing his way into War's mouth, intent on devouring him. The bigger nephilim pulled Death free of his pants, stroking him slowly, savoring the feeling of finally being able to touch what he had imagined for so long.

In War's case, fact really was better than fiction, and he stared at his brother's cock, that almost dizzying feeling rising in his chest again.

Death was big. Not that War was lacking in that department, but, lengthwise at least, he had his younger brother beat. War was mesmerized by the way his cock jumped every time he brushed feather-light fingers around the head, smiling at the noises Death was trying to hold back.

But when War leaned down to press a kiss to the drooling head of Death's cock, something broke, and suddenly War was being pushed back into the pillows. He licked his lips, savoring the salty flavor, before he was pierced by Death's eyes, intense and erotic. The older man pushed his legs apart, before commenting, "It would be better for you if you were like _this._ " With the last word, Death had grabbed War and maneuvered him onto his hands and knees. The white-haired nephilim's cheeks burned, embarrassed at how exposed he was to Death's lustful eyes.

He felt warm kisses as they were pressed into his back, following the curve of his spine. When they vanished, he arched his back, searching, only to be met with Death's callused hands, running down his back, slick with oil and drawing circles on his skin. He felt the fingertips dragging down further, and screwed his eyes shut, waiting. There was a pause in Death's movements, and War craned his neck to see why his brother had stopped.

He found Death staring at him with adoration, the shame he had seen earlier barely there in his dark eyes, a ring of fire around them the only visible part of his iris.

"Are you sure about this, War?" His voice was rough with need, hoarse with the want to take and _claim_. "People will talk. It won't be easy." How he managed to make his gaze so piercing, so serious, when he was completely bare, so exposed, was a mystery, but the answer to Death's statement was an easy one.

"Let them talk, then. I don't want easy, I want _you._ " He twisted his body, putting his weight on his gauntleted arm so he could pull Death in for a searing kiss. "Now, do you want me to _beg_ , or will you finally claim what's been yours for eons, _brother_?"

Death growled and pushed War back onto all fours, and then the fingers were back, continuing their quest. War shivered when he felt Death's fingers circling around his entrance, a hiss of surprise escaping him when a slick finger pushed in to the knuckle. The hiss morphed into a groan when a hand wrapped around him, stroking slowly, and any discomfort was replaced with a flare of pleasure as Death thrust his finger, then added another one. That time, the pain was so quickly overtaken War almost didn't feel the intrusion, instead a strangely foreign feeling filled him, and he wiggled his hips, trying to get accustomed to it. But, then Death adjusted the angle of his fingers, curling them and thrusting hard, and War saw stars as white-hot sparks of arousal shot through him. Above him, his brother chuckled, saying "Found it," happily.

War buried his face in the pillows, trying to muffle the needy keening that wanted to escape. Two more fingers, and he was absolutely sure that Death was trying to kill him. The thrust of his fingers was brutal, hitting that pleasure center with every motion. His brother stopped stroking him and leaned up, looming over him as he whispered filthy promises in his ear. How he wouldn't be able to breathe, think, _move_ when he was done. How he would make War scream for more, plead for it. How the White City _and_ the Black Throne would hear the way he surrendered. How beautiful he looked grasping at the sheets on the bed. How perfect he was.

War was a mess, panting and moaning, pushing back against Death's fingers, his back arched steeply. He felt like he was coming undone, shaking with exertion, sweat beading on his neck. "Death," He groaned, voice slurring with pleasure, "h-hah, I can't… I-I need you..."

Death smiled deviously against the shell of War's ear and said "You want me? Well, I never could deny you anything, _little brother_."

He was lined up and ready, the tip of his cock catching on War's stretched hole when he heard a nearly inaudible "Wait." He paused and looked at his brother's bowed head.

"What is it?" He asked, a barely-there smudge of irritation coloring his voice, wanting nothing more than to grab those hips and sheathe himself in War's tight ass.

War seemed to flinch, and Death sighed, leaning down to press kisses into the younger man's strong neck, damp with sweat. "War? Tell me."

His brother's reply was little more than a whisper of "I want to see you." But the words had any annoyance be swiftly replaced with something warm and almost amorous. He flipped War onto his back with a smile, taking his brother's request as confirmation that War really _did_ want this, want him. After settling a pillow under the bigger nephilim's hips, he looked to War, their eyes catching, solid blue eyes lowered to half-mast, a view he was sure was mirrored on his own face.

War slung his arm around Death's neck, pulling him down for a kiss, strangely sweet in the wake of everything that was happening, that was about to happen. As he deepened the kiss, tongues dancing, Death lined himself up again, and, feeling War press downwards that time, pushed in slowly.

His brother broke the kiss with a gasp, a spark of pain shooting up his spine. Death's cock was much bigger than his fingers had been. Quickly, Death re-initiated the kiss, wrapping a hand around his brother's length and stroking again, chasing away the pain as he buried himself inside War.

It was gruelingly slow, Death taking every chance to savor each moment, as any of War's discomfort melted away, a sweet, numb feeling traveling up his body. Every second felt like days, the room spun with heat and excitement as the pair slowly shared what had been brewing between them for eons.

Beneath him, War was panting, the fullness of having Death inside of him almost enough to drive him insane. His mind only on the fact that there was _more,_ that Death would fill him to the brim by the end of this. His single hand clutched desperately at Death, clawing at his back, the prosthetic one balling in the sheets hard enough to tear the fabric.

Death took every ounce of his self-control and gathered it, fighting the need to move _faster_ , to get _more_ of what he was feeling, exquisite completion after decades of want. When his control was on the verge of collapsing, War took the decision from him and rolled his hips, testing the waters. Apparently he liked what he found, because he was groaning loudly, and hooking his legs around Death, pulling him in more, further and further until there was nothing left to give.

Death's face was buried in War's neck, and he was surrounded by his brother, both literally and metaphorically, even consumed by his scent. The smell of battle leathers and steel, with an undercurrent of something that was purely War, like fire and thunderstorms. It was better than he had ever imagined, and he gave a few experimental thrusts, and was answered with a loud, pleased exhale of hot breath at his ear. "Oooh, brother, ahhh, please…"

The older nephilim chuckled, pulling back to look into War's needy eyes. Who would have thought that the larger man could be so wanton, for him, of all people? War's face went red to his ears, and he averted his eyes from Death, ashamed of the weakness he was showing.

Death rolled his hips, grinding deeper and War bit down on his lip, trying to silence the noises that wanted to escape. "Don't hide from me, War. I love this part of you, as much as I love the rest." Ignoring War's wide eyes, he started thrusting in earnest, leaning down and locking lips with his lover, suddenly desperate for contact between them, even though they could get no more intimate than they were at the moment. Death broke the kiss, and, smiling, he shifted his hips, searching for that bundle of nerves that would drive War wild.

He knew the second he found it, as War came apart beneath him, eyes squeezed shut, back arching as he thrust back against every one of Death's strokes. Hitching moans and needy keening, loud in Death's ear, seemed to go straight to his cock, as War seemed to let go of his shame and just _feel._ Though, as he watched his brother's face, maybe he was just too overcome to fight his embarrassment.

Still, War looked desperate for something, even as he dug his nails into Death's back, clawing, red welts raising in their wake. Death grinned, panting as War tensed around him, hot and _so_ tight. "What do you _want_ , War?" Tell me so I can give it to you, brother."

Beneath him, War writhed, looking at odds with himself before he seemed to give in, yanking Death's face down until their noses were touching. How he managed to make his solid blue eyes so lecherous was a mystery to him, but it was War's next words that sent Death over the edge. "Give me _more_ , brother, stop holding back. Let me _feel_ you, Death- ahh-!" Whatever he was going to say next was lost as Death sped up his thrusts, losing rhythm as he went harder, deeper. War seemed to lose all coherent thought, moaning, lost in each wave of pleasure as his brother hammered his prostate, sending electric shocks through his body, straight to his achingly hard cock.

Death wrapped a hand around War's leaking dick, wanting to see his face as he came undone underneath him, his brother's breaths hitched, and he was panting hard as Death fucked him mercilessly.

War shuddered, back arching as every one of Death's powerful thrusts sent shocks of electricity up his spine, sending a pleasant numbness through his body, but when the hand around his cock began to stroke in time with his brother's passionate thrusts, he felt himself nearing the edge.

"Ah-ahh, brother, I-I'm going to -oooh-!" Death cut off his brother's statement and kissed him hard, his tongue battling with War's as he looked into those half-lidded blue eyes, ignoring the hand digging claw marks into his back in favor of timing his thrusts again, coming dangerously close to losing himself as he leaned down and kissed the shell of War's ear, panting hotly, loving the way his brother tightened around him, reacting so perfectly to him.

"That's it, War. Cum for me, _little brother._ Let me watch you come undone beneath me. So perfect…" As if on cue, or maybe in response to his brother's order, War came apart, feeling his hot release coat his stomach, a loud cry leaving his lips.

Death was still murmuring his compliments, his forceful thrusts at War's prostate lifting him to almost painful new heights, before he heard a moan, and a few more of those deep, powerful strokes, before there was a pressure on his neck that he dimly registered as his older brother _biting_ him, and then he felt the smaller man tense above him, and a sudden rush of heat, like all the blood in Death's veins had caught fire.

Above him, Death was lost in his own climax, thrusting roughly before he finally came over the edge, spilling his hot seed deep inside of the larger nephilim.

Panting, he tried to catch his breath and pulled out, feeling his softening cock slip from War. He barely had time before his brother was pulling him down, still out of breath and looking quite debauched, cheeks red and lips kiss-bruised, practically radiating a blissed-out heat. Loving kisses trailed over his face, and as he succumbed to his exhaustion with War slinging his arms around him, drawing him in, he hazily heard his little brother saying, "And for the record, brother, I love you too."

The older nephilim had known a little about the spell that had been cast over the area. Fury had _said_ that it only affected residents of the Third Kingdom. As he drifted off, he wondered if she had been trying to set them up by sending them on that this particular mission. It was of no matter now, and he probably owed his sister a 'thank you' for helping him finally nab War. Beside him, the bigger nephilim had already fallen asleep, his gauntleted arm thrown over Death, keeping him close. For the first time in countless millennium, Death fell asleep with a smile on his face, content with his place in the world.


End file.
